


Sick Fic

by VeraBAdler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Shmoop, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was bad enough that Dean and Cas had the flu. Did they have to be sharing a room through all this? Sharing a <em>bed</em>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Fic

It was bad enough that Dean and Cas had the flu and Sam was still completely healthy. Well, okay, maybe it _was_ kind of a blessing that Sasquatch's bizarre salad-centered diet was keeping him from coming down with this bug, since his care was the only thing standing between them and a horrible death right now. But still, being sick was bad enough – coughing until you gag, hurting everywhere, skin on fire, chills, aches, agony... Did they _have_ to be sharing a room through all this? Sharing a _bed_?

Sam made Bitchface #12 (the one with the smug little I-know-more-than-you-do smirk) and explained it again. "It just makes _sense_ , Dean. You don't want to be in your own room right now, spewing germs all over your nice mattress and everything else you own. Using a spare room as a sick ward means we can completely disinfect it after you're both better. This room's the closest to the library, so you can call me when you need me. And I'd get nothing else _done_ if I had to be running back and forth between the two of you all day, so setting you up in here together is easiest for everyone. Besides, you can keep each other company." And there's that smirk again.

 _Company_. Like they're on a nature hike. Like they're not too exhausted to lift their arms. Like their throats aren't too sore to talk. Like they aren't so nauseous they can barely keep their tomato rice soup down. Like their heads aren't so stuffed up they feel like they're being smothered. Like every inch of their bodies doesn't ache. _Company._ Dean's misery doesn't love company. Dean's misery wants to be _put out of its misery_.

Which is not to say that Cas isn't kind of, um, cute when he's sick. Adorable, even. He snuggles down into the blankets like a puppy, all cozy and soft. And even the way he coughs is kind of amazing – that growly, gravelly voice has gotten even deeper with the sore throat, and his coughs roll like thunder in his chest. Dean can feel them reverberate through his own chest where they're pressed together.

And that's the other thing: Cas pretty much hasn't stopped touching him since they got into the bed, and Dean's pretty much loving it. He still bitches about it nonstop to Sam, though, because Sam doesn't need to know what a fucking woman Dean actually is inside. (He loves to cuddle, alright? Fuck you.) Somehow Cas always seems to be running hot when Dean has the chills, and blessedly cool when Dean's fever spikes, and whenever one of them manages to drop off to sleep it lulls the other one down as well, and they wake up every time wrapped around each other like twin octopi.

It's a little bit glorious. It's kind of everything Dean's ever secretly longed for. Dean's almost going to be sad to get better.

A week goes by like this. Maybe more. Dean loses track. Endless bowls of soup and bottles of Gatorade. Boxes and boxes and boxes of Kleenex. The days and the nights blur together when they never sleep more than a couple hours at a time, and there are no windows in the Bunker and there's no clock in the spare room, so who knows what the hell time it ever is anyway.

Still, it feels like the middle of the night when Cas whispers to him.

"Dean?"

Dean wasn't asleep, but he was kind of mentally _away_ , flat on his back, staring at the darkness. It takes him a minute to respond. "Mmm?"

"How... How are you feeling?" Cas asks tentatively.

They haven't done much of this in the past week (or however long it's been) – asking each other how they feel. The first few days had been _full_ of complaining, from both of them. Dean rarely gets sick, and takes it as a personal insult from the universe whenever he does. And Cas, newly human, has _never_ had to deal with this crap before. So both of them, between tender swallows from sore throats and endless coughing fits and unsatisfying naps, had spent a frankly _shameful_ amount of whatever lucid time they'd had just flat-out bitching and moaning. Full counts of their symptoms (unacceptably numerous) and descriptions of the severity thereof (utterly unbearable) had been offered up _ad nauseam_ , as it were. At one point, Sam had actually put in earplugs for an afternoon, promising that he'd set a timer to remind him to come check on them every hour but that he _just could not stand to listen to anyone complain for one more second Jesus fucking Christ both of you man the fuck up_.

Eventually the minimal satisfaction derived from griping and whining had worn thin and they'd both more or less resigned themselves to suffering silently. Dean still complains about bunking with Cas, of course. He complains about _that_ almost every time Sam comes into the room. Gotta keep up appearances. Thing is, though, Dean's not sure Sam is buying it. Bitchface #12 seems to have taken up permanent residence on the front of his shaggy head. Maybe Dean's not fooling anyone.

But yeah. Cas' question kind of comes out of the blue. It's nice, though. Sweet of him to ask. Dean smiles a little, in the dark, before he answers softly, "I'm doing okay, Cas. Better than before. Throat's not as raw but my head still hurts like a bitch. How are you feeling?"

"I think I'm starting to feel better, too. I can breathe through my nose today. I never realized how much I enjoy doing that until I couldn't do it any more."

"Yeah, I guess that's the good part of being sick – it makes you appreciate the little things." Dean reaches for Cas' hand, intending to give it a reassuring squeeze, but Cas moves it away before Dean can grasp it. "Cas? What's up?"

"Dean, I... I'm starting to feel better. I think I can move back to my own room now."

"Move back?" Dean feels a little frantic all of a sudden. "Uh, why?"

"I know you haven't liked having me here and I'm very sorry for that. I'm sorry that I was too weak to leave on my own, and I didn't want to inconvenience Sam when he was working so hard taking care of both of us at once, but now I think I can make it to my room if Sam helps me walk. I want to 'get out of your hair' as soon as possible," he says faintly, and Dean can feel the bed shift when he _actually makes the finger-quotes_.

So Dean _was_ fooling someone after all. 

Shit.

Dean is an idiot.

He flicks on the bedside lamp and turns to Cas, but he's flat on his back now, looking up at the ceiling, not looking at him. "Cas..."

"I feel horrible that you had to put up with me in your personal space while you were sick, Dean, and I'll ask Sam to help me move the next time he comes in to check on us. You can finally have the bed to yourself...."

"Cas."

"I'm sorry if I was crowding you or if I kept you awake at all. I realized today that I probably made your fever worse with my body heat and I hope that you're not going to stay sick longer than you should have because of me–"

Dean lays his fingertips on Cas' mouth. " _Cas_."

"Mmm?"

"Please don't move to your room."

"...Mmm??"

Dean takes his fingertips off of Cas' mouth. Cas doesn't say anything. He just stares at Dean with those beautiful fucking _eyes_.

Dean takes a semi-deep breath, careful not to make it so deep that he starts coughing again. "Cas, I... I like having you here. I like it a lot."

Cas squints at him. "I don't understand, Dean. You made it very, very clear that you were unhappy to have to share the bed with me. Every time Sam came in, you told him how much you hated it. You told Sam you were going to put Nair in his shampoo again because of it. You said–"

Dean lays his fingertips back on Cas' mouth, and sighs. He starts speaking, slowly and carefully. He looks his friend right in the eyes, making sure to convey the sincerity behind his words. Well, he _starts out_ slow and careful, but somewhere along the way he kind of speeds up and things just start tumbling out of his mouth. "Cas, I'm sorry. I am _so fucking sorry_ that I said all that shit. I didn't mean _any_ of it. I was half out of my mind with the fever and I got it into my head that I had to _make sure_ Sam didn't know how much I've _loved_ having you here with me, _holding_ me, and I just went a little crazy with it. It never even _occurred_ to me that you were hearing me say that stuff. I was so fucking stupid. Being here with you this week has been the only good part of being sick, Cas. Being here with you this week has been one of the best things that's ever _happened_ to me. I don't want you to move back to your own room, I want you to stay here with me and I want us to fall asleep holding each other and I want us to wake up holding each other and I just want you _with me_ , Cas, _all the time_ , because _I love you_ , and–"

The words slip out and Dean freezes. Cas' eyes are _huge_ now. They stare at each other for a moment, and the moment stretches on and on. Dean's fingers fall away from Cas' lips.

"Dean..."

"...Yeah, Cas?"

"I'd like to kiss you now."

"I'd like that too, Cas. But my nose is still running, and I haven't brushed my teeth in, like, nine days, and maybe we should hold that thought until we're healthy again. Maybe just... C'mere." Dean scoots over towards Cas on the bed, reaching to pull Cas closer to him at the same time. His arms go around Cas' back, their legs slot together effortlessly, Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder, and it's _perfect._ Dean has never felt so comfortable in his life.

Dean reaches back to turn the light off, and they snuggle closer in the darkness. Dean relaxes so completely that he feels like he's melting. He's just drifting off to sleep when Cas whispers to him again.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I love you."

Dean smiles. He presses a kiss to the top of Cas' head and squeezes him gently. "I love you too, Cas. I always have."

Cas presses a soft kiss to Dean's neck, just below the curve of his jaw. He squirms a bit, huffs out a breath like he's not sure if he wants to speak again or not. After a moment he tilts his head up and puts his mouth right next to Dean's ear, asking softly, "When we're better, can I move into your room with you?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, babe. You 'n' me. We'll try out the memory foam. Give Sam another reason to wear those earplugs."

Cas huffs again, a tiny laugh this time. "That sounds perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea while I was out running errands, and wrote this note on my phone: "Friends to lovers sick fic -- D & C both have the flu, Sam bundles them into Dean's bed together for ease of care and company. Romantic fluff ensues." That pretty much covers it. I'm sorry I'm such a sap.
> 
> Rebloggable link [here](http://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/107978161701/sick-fic-verabadler).


End file.
